


Veien Hjem

by HysteriaLevi



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29180922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HysteriaLevi/pseuds/HysteriaLevi
Summary: After Sigurd single-handedly attacks a bandit camp in hopes of reaching Valhalla, he survives thanks to Eivor and realizes that his life is far from over.
Relationships: Eivor/Sigurd Styrbjornson, Sigurd Styrbjornson/Eivor Wolfkissed, Sigurd Styrbjornson/Eivor Wolfsmal, Sigurd Styrbjornson/Male Eivor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Veien Hjem

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the title isn’t entirely correct. My Norwegian isn’t that great.

**SOMEWHERE IN EURVICSCIRE**

**NOON**

Sigurd sat lifelessly on the edge of the river bank, watching in silence as droplets of blood blossomed beneath the water.

At the moment, the river was littered with fresh corpses of bandits from the nearby camp, and had clots of red snow crumbling into its frozen embrace. Sporadic ripples danced above its glassy surface and carried fragments of ice with their delicate push, warping the broken reflection Sigurd found staring back at him.

...He could hardly recognize himself by this point.

Instead of the steadfast warrior who once wielded the Raven Clan’s respect and admiration, he now saw nothing but the desolate remains of a once great man, desperately holding onto the life he had ruined so long ago.

He just felt... so lost. So vulnerable. The world seemed to be doing everything it could to knock him down into the mud, and he didn’t know how to get back up anymore.

He had completely lost the will to fight, and without any reason to push forward, he saw no point in trekking further down this aimless road. He felt as if he had outstayed his welcome in this world... and that was why he tried to reach Valhalla today.

Like a madman drunk on blood, Sigurd had charged into the bandits’ camp with nothing but an axe in hand, prepared to fall in this tomb of ice and snow. He fought with the wrath of Thor himself, and tore his enemies apart in a hurricane of iron.

For a few moments, there had been nothing but chaos. He experienced no fear, no hate, no love -- not even pain. The only thing that had been on his mind was reaching the end of his saga, and greeting the Valkyries with open arms.

Contrary to what Sigurd expected though, he survived.

In spite of the numerous injuries that he now sustained, he remained the last man standing among this newly forged battlefield and sat alone amidst the mayhem, unsure of where to go from here.

He was freezing to the bone in the wind’s icy breath, and yet, he couldn’t push himself to get up. He had been completely exhausted of any motivation, and now, he simply waited for death to arrive, dreaming of what its shrill whispers would sound like.

Before that could happen though, _another_ voice called out to him.

“Sigurd?” Eivor exclaimed in the distance, wandering through the woods. “Sigurd! Are you there?”

A series of footsteps crunched through the snow, leading Sigurd’s ears to perk up as his brother approached him.

“Sigurd...!” The man said with relief, somewhat out of breath. “ _There_ you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What in Hel’s name are you doing out here? Are you alright?”

The older man offered nothing but silence in return, causing Eivor to step in front of him.

“Sigurd,” he repeated, his boots softly splashing through the water. “Brother? Are you listening to me?”

Sigurd remained seated on the ground, still staring blankly at the river.

“Hey,” Eivor said more firmly, gripping his brother by the shoulder. “It’s me.”

The other man uttered out a quiet response, barely shifting his gaze from the bandits’ scattered bodies.

“...I should’ve died with them.”

Eivor glanced back at the corpses in confusion, bewildered by Sigurd’s sudden change in behavior. “What? What are you talking about? Who are these people? Why were you fighting? Are you okay? You’re covered in blood.”

Sigurd looked down at his beaten body and clenched one of his hands into a fist, attempting to fight back the numbness that was starting to paralyze it.

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Sigurd whispered to himself. “I should’ve... I should’ve...”

Eivor knelt down in front of the man, growing increasingly concerned by the minute.

“Sigurd,” he said softly, “look at me.”

Tearing his eyes away from the chaos he had wrought, Sigurd slowly brought his line of sight to the face in front of him, breaking out of his trance-like state as a certain warmth returned to his skin.

“...Eivor?” He finally replied, his tone devoid of any emotion. “What... what are you doing here?”

The younger man’s brow crinkled in heartache. “Searching for you, of course. What else would I be doing? Gods above, Sigurd...” Eivor took a deep breath, “...do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? How long I’ve been trying to find you? When you disappeared from Ravensthorpe, I thought that you might’ve... that you might’ve been killed. Or worse. Why are you all the way out here? Why did you even fight these men? Who were they?”

Sigurd shook his head. “...I don’t know. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anyways.”

Eivor gestured to the other man’s wounds. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? _Look_ at you. You could’ve _died,_ Sigurd. There’s an entire army of them in these woods, and you attacked them alone. What if I never found you? What if--”

He came to an abrupt pause, suddenly realizing exactly what was going on.

...Sigurd never _meant_ for Eivor to find him, did he? He never intended to be seen again. 

There was a reason he had traveled so far out into the wilderness, and it was because he didn’t want anyone in Ravensthorpe to know where he had gone. 

He didn’t want the world to stop turning because of his absence, nor did he want others to grieve for his loss. He didn’t want to say goodbye.

He didn’t intend to walk away with his life.

These bandits -- whoever they once were -- were supposed to be no more than Sigurd’s passage to Valhalla. He didn’t care where they came from, or if they even meant him any harm. All that mattered was the fact that they outnumbered him.

And yet, against all odds, Sigurd ended up on the winning side of the fight. He had persevered throughout the battle, and come out as the sole survivor. Though, in spite of his miraculous victory, it was clear that the mission hadn’t been a success. At least, not in _his_ eyes.

Instead of earning a glorious entrance to Valhalla like he had planned, Sigurd remained trapped in this dreary realm, even _more_ beaten than before. His body was riddled with all sorts of injuries, and now, he found himself at a dead end, uncertain of how he was going to proceed.

Even though he was confident that the two of them would be able to make it back home, Sigurd knew his brother wouldn’t dare take his eyes off him again. Now that Eivor fully understood what was going on, it was evident that the man was only going to be far more attentive from here on out.

He was almost like his protector in a way. Anytime something bad happened to Sigurd, Eivor was always there mere moments later, swooping in to rescue him. He was the guardian constantly watching over him, and Sigurd usually seemed to be the one in distress.

But he was tired of it being that way. He was tired of being a burden.

Eivor had other things to be concerned about. He had an entire clan of people to look after, and needed all the help he could find to pacify England. He was fighting a _war_ , for goodness’ sake. He couldn’t afford to waste time fretting over a single man.

And yet, despite the never-ending list of matters he had to attend to... Eivor was out here. With Sigurd.

He had been worried enough about the man to completely abandon everything else going on in his life, and it was all for the sake of making sure his brother was okay.

_...But why?_

“Sigurd?” Eivor repeated, his voice much gentler now. “...You’re worrying me.”

The older man sighed, shutting his eyes in defeat. “That’s all I seem to do nowadays -- worry people. It’s the only thing they talk about when I’m not around. ‘Is Sigurd alright?’ ‘Is he doing okay?’ ‘Why is he so angry today?’ ‘What’s going on?”

Eivor’s face sank with empathy. “We worry about you because we care, Sigurd.”

“I know,” he said plainly, “but you shouldn’t have to. You deserve a jarl who can stand on his own two feet. You deserve someone who isn’t like... _this.”_

“What do you mean?”

Sigurd scoffed. “Are you joking? Look at me, Eivor. You know what I used to be like. You know how I once was. But _this...”_ his shoulders slouched in despondency, “...this is pathetic. I am nothing more than a hobbling stick now. A wretch of a warrior. A mere fragment of what I _could_ be.”

Eivor shot him a puzzled stare. “What you could be? I... I don’t understand.”

“I am so much more than what you see, Eivor,” Sigurd explained. “I carry the blood of gods within my veins. I saw it for myself when I was with Fulke. Despite her cruelty, she _did_ open my eyes to an unfathomable truth. She showed me a place destined for people like me -- a home that I’ve never known. There, I was a great warrior. A lord of pragmatism and battle prowess. People called me brother. They _admired_ me.”

Eivor automatically glowered at the mention of Fulke’s name. “That woman was mad, Sigurd. She knew nothing of what she spoke. She only saw you as a tool, and used you for her own benefit. Do not let her ravings distort your mind.” He stopped for a second, thinking about his last words. “...But this place you speak of; this home that you desire -- you already have that _here,_ brother. With our clan. With _me._ ”

Sigurd’s expression only seemed to dim at that. “You don’t need me, Eivor. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. You--”

“--No, I _do_ need you.” He corrected. “You really think I came all this way just to find someone that I don’t need?”

The older man shrugged morosely. “What could you possibly need me for? I can hardly fight nowadays, my mind is stuck in a haze, and I bring nothing except hardship and confusion to the people of our clan. What would you lose if I were to disappear?”

Eivor’s eyes softened with sorrow. “...Everything.”

Sigurd fell silent at the answer, unsure of how to react. Part of him suspected that the younger man was only saying what he wanted to hear, but the pain in his voice told him otherwise.

“Listen to me,” Eivor continued, “I may not always understand what’s going through your mind, but I understand your fear. I know you’ve been in pain for a long time now -- even _before_ what happened with Fulke -- and I know it’s been a battle. But you mean more to people than you realize, Sigurd. You don’t need to be a god or a warrior to earn our love. You _already_ have it.”

He brought Sigurd into a secure embrace, holding the man tightly.

“I need you because I love you. We may have our disagreements from time-to-time, but a life shaped by your struggles will always be better than a life without you at all. You helped create who I am today, and I would surely lose that part of myself if I lost you.”

Sigurd rested his head in the crook of Eivor’s neck, doing his best to hide the tears that were gathering in his eyes.

“...You truly believe that?”

The younger man separated the hug, gently holding Sigurd’s face in his hands.

“I do. So please... come home with me. It doesn’t have to end like this. You don’t need to be alone in this fight.”

The other man looked away from Eivor, staring at the ground in desolation.

“...But where do I go from here? How will I survive?”

Eivor gave him a sincere answer. “I don’t know. That’s for you to decide. The only thing I can tell you is that it won’t be easy, and you won’t heal overnight. But no matter what happens, I’ll always be here if you need me.”

He stood up from the ground, extending a hand out to Sigurd as the snow grew heavier around them.

“Come, love. Your journey isn’t over yet.”

Gazing upwards at the man, Sigurd found himself at a loss for words as a thousand different thoughts collided with each other inside his head, causing him to come face-to-face with an epiphany.

He would’ve been lying if he said he felt any better than he did earlier, but unlike before, Sigurd now wondered if death was truly worth it. At first, he envisioned the experience as a solution, or as a way to pacify the unrest in his soul. He thought it would finally be the end to all of his pain, but now... he couldn’t help but question if death was really the answer.

After all, he saw how it affected Tove when Svend suddenly passed. It was just so... abrupt. So final. He dropped out of the world like it was nothing, and slipped free from this realm’s grasp without any warning. There was no goodbye; no closure, no glorious end to the tale. 

It was just death. Plain and simple.

Sigurd couldn’t even begin to imagine how much it would damage Eivor if he went through the same thing. Despite the doubts that constantly crept into his mind, he knew that the man cared for him more than anyone else in his life. They were practically inseparable at this point, and if something were to happen to either of them, Sigurd knew it would devastate him.

He may have been desperate for a way to stop the pain, but no solution was worth hurting Eivor like that.

And so, with one last thought, Sigurd finally rose from the snow and grabbed onto Eivor’s hand, feeling determined to push through this once again. He didn’t know what sort of obstacles awaited him in the future, or how long this battle would carry on, but he could see now that it was fight worth pursuing.

Death was an inevitable face that he would have to greet eventually, but its time had yet to come. There was still an entire ocean of endless waves and ripples waiting beyond the horizon, and even though there was no guarantee that another storm wouldn’t hit, Sigurd hadn’t quite lost the curiosity to see what rested behind the fog.

He was just starting to write his saga, and the end would come when it was ready.

“...A-Alright,” Sigurd said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ll go with you.” He paused for a moment, gazing downwards in guilt. “I’m... I’m sorry for frightening you. I didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

Eivor gently caressed Sigurd’s cheek with the back of his knuckles, looking at him with a sense of love no one else ever had. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re still here.”

He planted a brief kiss on the older man’s lips, holding tightly onto his weathered hands as a shower of snowflakes fluttered down on top of them.

“Come on,” Eivor whispered affectionately, his words turning into clouds of mist. “...Let’s go home.”


End file.
